Mission Debriefings in Ten Words or Less
by CaptainSmirk
Summary: Waiting for the PBA nominations? Take a break and play this quick hit challenge. See Challenges on Forum XIIIC for the skinny.


"Well, Corporal, would you care to explain?"

Colonel Hogan's growl was deceptively soft. It was practically a purr to those outside, but a gigantic boom inside Newkirk's head.

The corporal attempted a groan and failed. After what seemed like an eon, he managed a croak.

Someone poured cold water over his face. A small trickle found its way down his throat, but that was probably only by accident. He realized that when someone pried open his left eye and he saw three faces with very grim expressions regarding him. If only it had been three different faces, he lamented. One irritated Lebeau was bad enough without seeing him in triplicate. The lid snapped shut again with enough force that the part of his skull above his right ear nearly sat up and whimpered.

"It's no good, Colonel," Kinch's voice rumbled like thunder. "He's in no shape to tell us what happened on the mission."

"Whafat?" Newkirk sat up suddenly and nearly blacked out as he fell back even more suddenly. "Maowshi'naow--"

He felt a firm grip on his left arm and shoulder and someone lifted him up. He felt dizzy again, but the firm hands held him steady until the room stopped spinning at eighty miles per hour. Granted, it still spun, but it was a nearly tolerable spin that allowed him to take in Lebeau, Hogan, Olsen and the occasional glimpse of Kinch out of the corner of his eye.

"You had a mission last night, remember?" prompted Hogan.

"Yesh...mish--mish.." croaked Newkirk.

Lebeau carefully dipped a tin coffee cup into the water barrel, brought it over to Newkirk, lifted it up and threw the contents in his face.

Newkirk sputtered, "S'not 'elpful."

The French corporal bared his teeth. "I'm just trying to revive you. Cold water helps."

"Bloo'ywelmrsh."

"You're hitting me with it, too," Kinch pointed out.

"Pardon," Lebeau was immediately contrite. "I will be more careful."

"Cut the vaudeville, will you?," snapped Hogan. "We've got roll call in twenty minutes."

"Oui, mon colonel."

"I don't need to ask if you made it to the tavern, but did you make contact with Sirocco?"

Newkirk blinked and tried to focus his mind on the question. Was Sirocco the bloke with the mustache or the grim, old battle-axe who had glared indiscriminately at the room's occupants while pursing her thin lips? He worked his jaw for a moment without success. This speaking thing is a bad job all around, he thought. Better nod--no, terrible idea. "Danasuh," he finally managed.

"You don't know?" translated Kinch. "Colonel, don't you think we should get him onto his bunk and just tell Schultz he's sick?"

"That might explain Newkirk, but what about Carter?" asked Lebeau.

"What about Carter?"

Funny, thought Newkirk. I was going to ask that. It's jolly nice of Carter to do it for me--

What he actually said was, "Cahar-"

Sergeant Carter stood just outside the radio room. The civilian suit he wore was spattered with mud and the left sleeve of his jacket had been torn and was attached to the shoulder by a few threads. The collar of his shirt had popped off. There was a cut just above his right eye and the knuckles of his left hand were scraped nearly raw.

His breathing slightly labored, the sergeant beckoned and LeBeau ran over and peered around the corner. The French corporal disappeared for a moment with Carter and in a few seconds they returned dragging a heavy object out of the tunnel. Newkirk experienced a moment of horrible sobriety as he made out a figure dressed in a dirndl. It was gagged, blindfolded and bound hand and foot. The jaw underneath the blindfold was swollen, but it was easy to see the stubble dotting it. A wig of flaxen braids fell off the figure's head and tumbled across the floor to land at Hogan's feet.

Lebeau looked down at the figure and shook his head. "You have very strange taste, mon ami."

Colonel Hogan stood with his arms folded and sighed. "Well, Sergeant? Would you care to explain?"

"No, sir," answered Carter. "I couldn't possibly."

"Well, why don't you try?"

"I was afraid that would be your attitude."

"Roll call, Colonel!" called Kinch.

"Ten words or less, Carter," prompted Hogan.

The sergeant shrugged out of the ruins the jacket and tugged at his necktie. "Double cross. Chloral hydrate--" Carter caught the flight suit Olsen tossed at him and stepped into it. "Gestapo. Quick truce. Escape. Second betrayal." He paused to put on his cap then added, "Hey, this is kind of fun. Can we do this for all our debriefings?"

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Author's note: This story is a challenge to my fellow writers to do a quick hit story. Go to Forum XIIIC and go into the Challenges topic for an explanation and the parameters.


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